What A Difference A Night Makes
by Kyra4
Summary: DHr prefects, top students in their year and Houses. Makes sense that they'd be chosen by the faculty for an honors project that requires them to be locked in the astronomy tower all night. Will they fall for each other or rip each other apart? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My shortest Draco/Hermione fic yet, complete in 25 pages, and a somewhat different style than my others-more lighthearted, in my opinion, and far more dialogue-based. Will be posted in five chapters on five consecutive Fridays. This little fic was an interesting exercise for me because it was written for a Draco/Hermione Valentine Fic Exchange Game and as such, I had to meet criteria set by an unknown requester. I also got to request my own ideal fic and an unknown author wrote it for me. The game was played anonymously, but the required period of anonymity has just ended, so now I, like the other authors who participated, can share my fic with the world. Anyway, the criteria I had to meet was as follows:

**3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:**  
1. Set in sixth year  
2. Professor Sinstra is a key element in creating the relationship between Draco and Hermione  
3. Draco and Hermione do not share potions class together  
4. Story must start out with a prologue, not from Hermione's, Draco's or Sinstra's point of view

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_Prologue: Thursday, February 12th_

0

Wrong, wrong, wrong. This had to be wrong.

Uttering a low growl of frustration, Severus Snape, potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pulled his head sharply away from the telescope, made some minute adjustments to the instrument's settings, then once again leaned forward, pushing a hank of jet black hair out of his eyes at the same time as he squinted into the telescope's eyepiece, hoping to see something different.

What he saw was exactly the same.

Goddamn it!

It had to be wrong.

The stars were telling him that something was about to happen- something profound- something that would be the key to bringing about unity amongst the deeply divided Houses of the school- a unity that could eventually give Hogwarts the strength to stand against the outside forces which threatened it.

This ought to have been welcome news indeed, except that…

"It's impossible," the taciturn professor muttered distractedly to himself. "Utterly impossible. Not those two. If it were anyone else, anyone at all…" He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, then slammed a fist down on the waist-high stone wall that ran around the edge of the rooftop observation platform on which he stood.

He must be doing something wrong. Yes, that's what it was. Though he was an amateur astronomer / astrologer by hobby, charting the stars and then making sense of their patterns and movements, it was admittedly not his field of expertise. That would be Potions- and, in his own opinion, if no one else's, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

So it was time to call in an expert- someone who could correct his error and discern the true nature of the omen he had found in the heavens.

Because if it meant what it appeared to _him_ that it meant…but no, that was just not possible.

He would summon both Firenze, the Divination teacher, and Sinistra, the astronomy professor, at once. One or both of them would be able to tell him what this truly meant.

Because if the future of inter-House relations and perhaps even of Hogwarts itself depended on _those_ two falling in love…

Then he feared deeply for the ancient school, and all who dwelled within its walls.

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_Friday, February 13th_

0

Professor Sinistra heaved a heavy sigh for what had to be the hundredth time since this astronomy lesson had begun. She was deeply worried about what she had agreed to do at the conclusion of the class. It was necessary, yes, they had all agreed on that- but she still harbored serious misgivings.

She just didn't see how this could work.

No matter what the heavens said- and she and Firenze, and eventually Dumbledore himself, had studied, and in the end corroborated, the potions master's discovery- it just seemed to her that throwing those two particular students together for the night under _any _pretense could only result in bloodshed.

Why, when she had arrived at class this very evening (astronomy being the only class taught after supper), it had been only just in time to head off yet another potentially nasty altercation between the two sixth-year trios- one famous; Potter, Weasley, and Granger, the other infamous; Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

It had started, of course, between Harry and Draco, but just as Sinistra had arrived, Hermione had placed herself squarely in front of Harry and had proceeded to glare at the white-blond Slytherin, hands planted on her hips, bristling from the top of her bushy-haired head right down to her crisply loafer-clad feet.

"If you want to hurt Harry, You'll have to go through me, Malfoy," she had hissed, wand in hand, stoutly resisting Harry's repeated attempts to thrust her aside.

Draco's upper lip had pulled back in a venomous sneer. "You say that like it's a bad thing, Granger," he had snarled, "whereas I would consider it an honor and a privilege to rid the world of one more filthy m-"

Sinistra had intervened at that moment, wading straight into the thick of things, shouting for order before the dreaded "m word" could be uttered, which would have inevitably led to Weasley losing what tenuous grip on his temper he had and either hexing or physically attacking Draco, which would probably have resulted in a free-for-all amongst the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered there.

And now the only chance for inter-House unity lay in throwing Draco and Hermione together for an entire night and hoping against hope that instead of killing each other, the two of them would fall in _LOVE_?

It was absurd.

It was a lost cause.

But it was also, according to the omen Snape had uncovered, the best chance Hogwarts had.

So it had to be done.

She sighed yet again as the students began packing up for the night; breaking down and putting away various pieces of equipment, gathering books, notes and belongings, preparing to leave. It was nine-o-clock on a Friday night and they were all, she was sure, anxious to be elsewhere.

And so they would be, soon enough…all but two.

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," she called, as the exodus began, "may I speak with the two of you for a moment, please?"

They came reluctantly, both expecting, she could tell, a reprimand for the earlier incident. She thought wryly that once they had heard what she had to say, they would wish it _HAD_ been a reprimand. She caught the flash of sympathetic looks from Hermione's friends, as well as the subtle gesture Draco shot his two lackeys, which seemed to say, _I can handle this; I'll catch you up later._

Then the last of the students had gone and the room was empty save for the professor and the two sixth-years; Hermione looking nervous, Draco sullen.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger," she said, "as prefects and as the top two students in this class, I have a special assignment for you. It must be completed tonight, and it is not optional." She saw the two of them exchange wary glances with each other, then look back at her, nonplussed.

"What- what does this assignment involve, professor?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"The faculty has observed some most unusual astronomical activity recently," Sinistra said, "and I want the two of you to track the movements of certain stars and planets across the night sky. Here is the list of heavenly bodies whose trajectories I wish you to chart." And she held out a parchment to Draco, who took it, looking somewhat shell-shocked.

"It will, of course," she continued, "take you all night." (What she failed to mention was that it was just busywork- an excuse to lock them in together; that was all.) "You must chart these bodies until they vanish below the horizon or are lost to the dawn. It is a two-person job; one to watch through the scope, and one to chart the progress. Each of the dozen or so stars and planets must be checked and charted at half-hour intervals. I suggest the two of you switch positions fairly frequently to keep yourselves sharp. Wouldn't do to doze off in the midst of such important work. And do remember, though it may seem like an inconvenience, that this is quite an honor for the both of you. Never before has a task this important been delegated to students. It is only because you are both such outstanding scholars, and have proved yourselves capable of shouldering responsibility by upholding your prefect duties, that you are being given this unique opportunity to assist the faculty. You have permission to use my personal scope."

It was Draco who finally voiced what both students were clearly thinking; "Professor…you have to be joking."

"I assure you, Mister Malfoy, I am not. This is a very serious assignment, and I have the highest expectations of you both. You are to start immediately; I shall instruct the house elves to bring you up a midnight snack in a few hours, to keep your strength up. Now if you don't mind, I have some business to attend to elsewhere." And she swept toward the door.

Just as she reached it, she was brought up short by Hermione's voice, shrill and panicky. "Professor! You can't! I can't. He…_we_ can't!"

She turned and did her best to smile encouragingly at the girl, who looked on the verge of tears. The fact that Hermione was so obviously shaken and upset, even after just having such an honor bestowed upon her by a teacher, spoke volumes. She felt a cold knot of fear in her gut. Was she doing the right thing?

_This will never work. Never._

But there was no backing out now.

"You'll be fine, Miss Granger," she said briskly, and before either of them had a chance to protest further, she was through the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her and reciting a spell that would cause it to remain locked, both from without and within, until dawn.

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Immediately, Hermione flew to the door and tried the handle, intending to reason further with Sinistra, a no-nonsense teacher she had always admired but who, she now reflected, had to be off her gourd if she thought that Draco Malfoy was capable of working cooperatively with her like an ordinary civilized person. He wasn't- that was one thing Hermione was sure of.

"It's locked," she cried in dismay, without turning toward Draco.

There was no response from behind her, but the sound of voices on the other side of the door, muffled by the thick wood, caught her attention, and she pressed her ear against it and listened intently.

It was Harry and Ron- they hadn't left- they were right there- _right there_, so close and yet so far away, on the other side of the locked door. They were talking over each other, voices raised, agitated.

"Professor, you _can't_-"

"Don't you understand-"

"Malfoy _hates_ her-"

"-putting her in danger-"

"-hear him before class?"

"-threatening her life-"

"-won't leave her here!"

Her heart swelled with love and gratitude for 'her boys', even as she knew it was hopeless. Sinistra's mind was made up.

As if in confirmation of this fact, Harry and Ron's voices died down- Hermione could see, in her mind's eye, the professor making the same silencing gesture that she so often utilized in class- Then came Sinistra's voice; calm, cool, implacable.

"I trust both Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy to behave like the prefects they are, and not squabble like children. You must also understand that they have been given very important work to do, work which will leave them little time for arguing. In addition, the entire faculty is aware of what they will be doing tonight, and Dumbledore himself has appointed a- sort of chaperone- to check in on them periodically. In short, though the concern you show for your friend is laudable, allow me to reassure you that she is quite safe. Nor will I change my mind. This door will not allow her out, or you in, until tomorrow morning. So I suggest you head back to your common room now. Crabbe, Goyle, that goes for you as well."

_Those two are still out there?_ Hermione thought. She hadn't expected the big, dumb Slytherins to show that degree of loyalty to Draco- hadn't expected that a grade-A prat like him could inspire such devotion. Well, she supposed, birds of a feather and all that…

The voices were now moving off down the stairs that led to the astronomy tower. She could hear that Harry and Ron were still pleading her case, but could no longer make out their words. The last thing she heard that she actually understood was Sinistra telling all four boys that they could return in the morning to collect their respective friends if they were that worried- but that honestly, there was no reason to be so worked up.

Though, judging from her tone of voice, it didn't sound as though even Sinistra was entirely sure of this. Hermione wondered who she was trying to convince- Harry and Ron, or herself. And if the professor had misgivings, why on earth was she going through with this ridiculous assignment?

Then the voices had faded, faded, and finally were altogether gone.

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Hermione sagged forward against the door, leaning into the cool wood, wanting anything but to turn around and face Draco, half expecting that when she did, he would have his wand out and pointed directly at her, ready to curse her into oblivion. The knowledge that some mysterious "chaperone" of Dumbledore's would be checking on her over the course of the night was scant comfort at the moment.

Finally, dragging in a deep, and not entirely steady, breath, she turned, bracing herself for almost certain confrontation- and was surprised to find Draco with his back to her, squatting down and fiddling with the settings of Sinistra's personal telescope, making those small adjustments that would customize it from her to him.

"Get ready to write, Granger," he said flatly, without turning around. "I'm going first with the scope." He paused and raked a hand through his silvery hair. "Let's just get this thing over and done with, shall we?"

When she didn't move, he finally half-turned, glaring at her sideways with those eerie, pale eyes. "Well, are you ready or what?" he snapped. "I thought you were meant to be some sort of- of-" he gestured impatiently with one hand, as though hoping to pull the word he was looking for out of the air- "schoolwork junkie, or something. Couldn't get enough. You've hit the mother lode tonight and yet you stand there gawking like an idiot!"

This stung enough to set her in motion. She stalked over to Sinistra's desk and picked up the forms on which she was to chart the coordinates Draco would give her. He already had the list of stars and planets they were supposed to track. She then stormed over to a low stone bench set against the wall- the astronomy tower contained no desks- and threw herself down upon it, cross-legged, shuffling the parchments on her lap, digging out a quill and a large hardcover book that could be used as a writing surface from her bag, and finally turning to glare at Draco- only to become even more incensed at the realization that her glare was entirely wasted on him; he was fully occupied with the scope once more.

She made an impatient noise. "Whenever you're ready, Malfoy."

She thought she heard Draco snort, but couldn't be sure as he had turned away again. "Just waiting for you to finish with the drama queen act, Granger," he drawled, and now there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

She seriously considered hurling the heavy book in her lap at the back of his head- that would wipe away the smirk she knew, just _KNEW_ was on his face- but thought better of it. Best to keep things civil and, like Draco himself had said, get this thing over and done with.

"Go," she snarled, quill poised over parchment.

It was 9:15.

And so it began.


	2. Chapter 2

9:25

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Are you sure you got them all?"

"Yes, Granger, I'm bloody well sure I got them all. I know you're used to dealing with your idiot Gryffindor friends, but-"

"Leave my friends out of this, Malfoy!"

They glared at each other for a long moment, doing battle with their eyes, then Draco surprised her by giving a graceful, one-shouldered shrug.

"Fine, Granger. Whatever you say. I won't mention your friends again, if you'll do me the same courtesy. I don't really want to bicker all night. Why make things harder than they have to be?"

She was reduced to simply staring for a long moment, before she realized her mouth was hanging open rather unattractively, and shut it with a snap. She had never expected Draco to be- well, agreeable. There was silence for a moment. Then,

"I just don't understand it," she said. "We're supposed to check and chart every half hour. It only takes ten minutes to do so. That leaves us twenty minutes of each half hour, or two-thirds total of the night, with nothing to do!"

Draco cast an eye at Hermione's overflowing bookbag. "Granger, you must have twenty books in there. Why don't you read?"

"They were all textbooks for today's classes, and I've finished every one of them. I didn't bring any pleasure reading. I never expected this!"

There was that nonchalant shrug again. "Cry me a river," Draco said mildly, then fished a pack of playing cards out of his own bag and began dealing himself a game of exploding solitaire.

Grumbling to herself, Hermione dug out her notes from the day and began rereading them. She had gone through all of them once and was halfway through them a second time when Draco called her attention to the fact that it was time to check-n-chart once again.

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10:05

Hermione was pacing by wandlight.

They had finished their second charting session by 9:55, and she had just settled in to finish her second rereading of her notes, when the lights in the astronomy tower had abruptly gone out.

There had been a moment of startled silence, then, from the far side of the room, where Draco had been sitting, she heard him murmur, "Lumos." Immediately a soft glow emanated from his wand, which allowed her to fumble her own wand out of her bag, where she had stored it all the way back before the astronomy lesson had begun- astronomy didn't generally call for wandwork- and ignite it as well.

"What on earth is going on?" she had demanded.

Draco, who had gone immediately back to his card game, his wand now giving out a steady light from where he had laid it on the floor beside him, hadn't looked up.

"It's ten-o-clock, Granger. Officially past curfew. All lights in the castle that are not in dormitories or common rooms go out at this time." He had sounded entirely unfazed. "Wouldn't expect _you_ to know that, though," he'd added then; "let's see, Astronomy ends at nine, so you're probably tucked all snug in bed by nine-thirty every Friday night, dreaming of Arithmancy and Runes…or maybe, if you're feeling _extra_ naughty-" and he glanced up for just an instant, a flash of quicksilver eyes, sending a trademark smirk her way- "studying by wandlight under your covers. You bad girl, you."

Which remark had led to her angry pacing as she attempted to phrase a reply that would adequately convey her deep contempt and utmost loathing for this obnoxious, stuck-up-

"Git!" she shouted suddenly, rounding on him, all hope of an intelligent comeback flying out the window. "That's all you are, Draco Malfoy. Just an obnoxious, stuck-up git!"

He raised his head again and this time kept it raised, merely regarding her, steadily, coolly, one eyebrow arched.

"I'll tell you what, mister high-and-mighty, mister I'm-so-proud-of-being-out-past-curfew-and-breaking-all-manner-of-school-rules," she continued furiously (choosing to conveniently ignore all the times over the years that she and her friends had done the exact same thing),"it just so happens I knew perfectly well about the lights going out at ten-o-clock. I can even tell you exactly when and why that spell was first implemented- it's right in 'Hogwarts, A History'. I just can't understand why the faculty would allow this _particular_ light to go out on this _particular_ night- Sinistra said they're all aware that we're in here; you would think they could have made an exception for us!"

"You've read 'Hogwarts, A History'?" Draco asked then, incredulously. "But why? What interest could a mu-Muggle like you have in the history of this school?"

Hermione closed her eyes and forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths, her hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically at her sides. "You just don't get it, do you?" she finally asked in a very tight voice. "I am not a Muggle. My parentage aside, Malfoy, I am just as much witch as you are wizard. There is every ounce as much magic in me as there is in you. And as for why I am interested in the history of Hogwarts, oh, I don't know, maybe it's because this is _MY SCHOOL TOO?_"

For a moment, no response from Draco. Then, "so you've read the whole book, have you?" he asked, in a casual tone, completely ignoring her emotional outburst, catching her entirely off-guard.

"I-I- three times," she stammered.

A smug look settled on his face. "Four," he said.

"Bollocks," she snapped automatically, then her eyes widened and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, unable to believe herself what she had just said. Oh, Malfoy was a bad influence on her all right- a dangerously bad influence.

Draco, for his part, looked hugely amused. "Such language, Granger," he tutted, through a smirk that was very nearly a grin. "Go on and ask me something if you don't believe me, you foulmouthed little shrew."

"What time is it?"

"I meant something from the- oh, right. Time for another charting session."

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10:35

"All right, then, tell me why the school was briefly closed in the year 1643."

"Pixie infestation." Draco yawned. "Come on, Granger, you can do better than that. Ask me something that actually proves I've read the book, why don't you?"

Hermione huffed, jutted out her lower lip petulantly and blew upwards at a stray curl that had fallen across her brow. That had been the third question Draco had answered both promptly and correctly, and as far as she was concerned, he had indeed proved that he had read the book. The bastard. This was supposed to be her area of expertise. Hers and hers alone. If Ron and Harry knew that Malfoy of all people- just a dumb Slytherin- had read "Hogwarts, A History" more often than she had, they would never let her live it down.

Draco chuckled at her obvious discomfiture. As if reading her mind, he said, "you and your friends have a bad habit of judging all Slytherins according to Crabbe and Goyle. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why, when most of us are fairly intelligent people. Look at the traits that were prized by the founder of my House; cleverness, resourcefulness, ambition. Not a lot of stupid people have all those traits. Honestly, Granger, just because you don't like us doesn't mean we're all dumb."

She stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless. She had never thought of it that way. Never expected Draco Malfoy to defend himself and his Housemates from her preconceived notions so calmly and articulately. It was at that very moment that it first occurred to her that there could be more- a lot more- to this boy- nearly a man now- that she had hated for close to six full years. Also that his soft, near-colorless hair looked strangely appealing by wandlight, and-

_STOP THAT!_

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11:00

"All right, Zabini then."

"Blaise? Blaise is a bloody genius. Smarter than I am, perhaps, and I don't say that about just anyone. More underhanded, too."

Hermione snorted her disbelief. "More underhanded than you?"

"Granger, you Gryffindors don't know from underhanded. You think I'm underhanded because I make snide remarks- that's not what underhanded is. For a Slytherin, I practically wear my heart on my sleeve. Someone underhanded would be more or less civil to your face- much like Zabini- but you wouldn't want to know what's going on behind your back."

Well. Hermione was taken aback. That was certainly food for thought.

"What about Pansy?" she asked after a moment. "You can't tell me she's smart. She's the very definition of a dumb blonde."

Draco shook his head slowly, looking unexpectedly thoughtful. "Pansy's not stupid," he said at length, "she's just unmotivated. An underachiever. The course of her entire life has been plotted out for her by her parents, and whether she earns top marks or bottom marks makes no difference to those plans, just so long as she can say she finished school. So she does the bare minimum to get by- she doesn't see a point in doing more. It's not like she's going to be a career woman. She's going into an arranged marriage, you know, right after graduation."

Hermione gasped. "That's- that's horrible! That ought to have been outlawed! Centuries ago! Who is she marrying?"

"Me."

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11:40

"What the _hell_ is that thing?"

"Fawkes!"

For indeed, Dumbledore's phoenix had just flown into the room via the same open window through which the telescope was jutting. He sailed three times around the perimeter of the large, circular tower room, warbling his eerie, beautiful song all the while, then alighted on Hermione's shoulder, shifting his weight from one taloned foot to the other, clacking his beak contentedly and poking his fiery head into the curtain of her thick, dark hair.

"Fawkes," Hermione crooned delightedly, "so _you're_ Dumbledore's mysterious chaperone! Come to check up on us, have you?"

Withdrawing his head from her hair, Fawkes bobbed it up and down once, as if in response to her question, then took off, circled the room once more, and left.

Hermione turned toward Draco, who was staring after the bird with the strangest expression on his face; one of mingled amazement and alarm.

"Malfoy, are you going to tell me that you were born and raised in the wizarding world and have never seen a phoenix before?"

She watched interestedly as he composed himself, his features smoothing back into his usual expression of bored disdain. "My family doesn't hold with phoenixes, Granger," he said at length. "I've been told they're nasty, vicious creatures."

"Funny," she replied, "I've always heard the same thing about snakes."

He gave her a long, intent and- was it just a trace unsettled?- look from those strange, pale eyes of his, but when he spoke, it was only to say, "time to chart again, Granger."

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12:00

It was on the dot of midnight that Dobby appeared with a soft pop, bearing a covered wicker basket in one hand, with a red and white checked tablecloth folded over his other arm, a solemn expression on his face, looking humorously like a waiter in a fine restaurant.

His large eyes lit up when he saw Hermione. "Hello, miss," he squeaked, shaking the tablecloth out with a flourish, spreading it on the floor and laying the basket in the middle of it. "Dumbledore is saying to bring this midnight picnic up to the astronomy tower, but Dobby wasn't expecting to be seeing- eep!"

He had just caught sight of Draco, sitting once more with his back against the far wall, completely engrossed in the card game he had resumed as soon as the latest check-n-chart had been completed. He hadn't even looked up, apparently not deeming the presence of a house elf to be worth his attention- it was as if the elf's high-pitched voice didn't even register in his mind.

He certainly had Dobby's full attention, however. The little creature backed up first one step, then another, the look of pleasure that had suffused his face upon seeing Hermione replaced by utmost horror.

Hermione, for her part, looked from Dobby to Draco and back again, blankly at first- but then her eyes widened and her mouth formed a soundless little 'oh' as realization struck. "It's all right, Dobby," she said soothingly, "he's-"

But before she could finish speaking, the elf had vanished with one more frightened squeak.

Draco looked up then, an expression of mild interest on his face.

"Did you say 'Dobby'? We used to have a house elf called that. Completely worthless, that one was. Father said he gave it clothes- and past time, too, if you ask me. Hardly got any work done at all, far too busy slamming its ridiculous ears in the- oh! Look, our midnight snack's arrived."

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12:25

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"But-"

Draco put down the piece of cold chicken he'd been munching on and leveled his gaze on Hermione. "The answer, Granger, is no. You can ask me a hundred times and it will still be no, so I suggest you give it up. It will be a cold day in hell when I join your preposterous house elf liberation society." He picked the chicken up again and tore off a large chunk with his teeth. "Absurd," he mumbled through the mouthful of food.

Hermione's ensuing glare would have sent both Harry and Ron running for the hills. On Draco, however, it had no discernable effect.

"You, Draco Malfoy, are a- a- barbarian!"

There was that easy single-shoulder shrug yet again. "The way I see it," he said calmly, after having swallowed, "I'm taking a stand for the elves here. I'm protecting both their best interests and my own. They like to serve. I like to be served. It's a win-win situation, Granger. And you're not going to convince me otherwise."

"Your old elf Dobby didn't like serving you, you arrogant, self-centered-"

"My old elf Dobby was worthless. I already told you that. It didn't like much of anything except for self-inflicted pain." His eyes narrowed then. "And anyway- what would you know about it?"

Hermione thought fast. Draco hadn't seen Dobby come in, but Dobby had seen Draco and was plainly out of his little mind with fear. If Draco didn't know his former servant was working at Hogwarts, did she really want to tip him off?

"Just…um…guessing?" she said lamely.

Those pale eyes narrowed further, until they were mere silver slits in the dim wandlight.

"Hmm…"


	3. Chapter 3

12:40

"I can't believe you're still eating. Honestly, it's obscene. Even Ron can't put away that much food."

Draco, who had resumed work on the chicken as soon as the latest charting session had been completed, snorted. "There hasn't been an area yet in which I can't best the Weasel- I'm more intelligent, better looking, loads more skilled at Quidditch- why should eating be any different?"

Hermione's eyes flashed and she sucked in a sharp breath, preparing to jump to her friend's defense- but before she could, Draco smoothly changed the subject, throwing her off-balance yet again, for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Conversing with Draco Malfoy was nothing if not unpredictable.

"Why aren't you in potions this year?" he asked, looking uncharacteristically serious and- well, interested. "You were- you were halfway decent at it, Granger. Did you get tired of being Longbottom's walking, talking potions reference book? Or did big, bad Snape frighten you away?"

"Neither," she snapped. "Teachers don't frighten me, Malfoy. And I never did any more for Neville than I saw you doing for those morons Crabbe and Goyle. It's just that _I_ got called on it and you didn't, thanks to that greasy-haired, hook-nosed, rotten-breathed-"

"Easy, Granger," Draco said mildly, "that's my godfather you're talking about."

She stopped abruptly, mid-tirade, her mouth still open, staring at him, shocked. "Oh," she finally managed, and shut her mouth with a snap. _Must_ he keep springing things on her like this?

She was silent for a long while, rendered well and truly speechless by this newest tidbit of information he had bestowed upon her- Snape, Draco's godfather? The same sort of loving, supportive older male figure that Sirius had been to Harry? _Snape?_ Come to think of it, it explained a lot inasmuch as the potion master's blatant favoritism, but…Snape, a godfather? Had he bounced a baby Draco on his knee once upon a time? Read him bedtime stories? Changed his nappies? She just couldn't quite seem to wrap her mind around the concept.

Draco reclaimed her attention by prompting, "were you going to tell me why you did drop potions, Granger? Or just list all the factors that didn't contribute while insulting my godfather every way you know how?"

"I-I-" _Good Lord, pull yourself together, girl._ "It just wasn't my favorite subject, or my best, Malfoy, all right? I probably would have let it go even if the teacher didn't absolutely hate all Gryffindors, and me more than most. When sixth year started, so many new and interesting subjects became available- why keep one that didn't agree with me when there were a dozen others to choose from? That's really all there is to it- no deep or sordid reason- I just wanted to try new things."

"Huh. I guess I can accept that."

She bristled. "Accept it or don't, Malfoy, I really don't care! I neither seek nor require your approval on my choice of classes!"

"Calm down, Granger. All I meant was, I hope you're doing something else worthy with your time, if not potions. It would be a shame for someone with your potential to let it go to waste."

"Potential," she echoed, her voice barely more than a whisper, "my potential?" Her mind was now officially reeling from this entire conversation. What the hell was Draco trying to do here? Was it his intent to shock her so often and so deeply over the course of one night that when Harry and Ron came to collect her in the morning she would be huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth, babbling nonsensically with her fingers in her ears?

She swallowed and shook her head. "A mudblood like me has potential, Malfoy? Never thought I'd hear you admit to that."

"I've called you a lot of things over the years, Granger, and I make no apologies. But I've never called you stupid. Hell, you're nearly as smart as I am, I think."

Now she was indignant. "_Nearly_ as smart? I earn better marks than you in every single class we share!"

"You didn't in potions, though, did you? Maybe that's why you _really_ dropped it. Couldn't stand being second best. And you call me arrogant."

"If I couldn't stand it, it was because it was so unfair! I never had a fair shot in potions, because Snape always favored the Slytherins, and above all, you!"

"Just as every single other teacher at Hogwarts favors non-Slytherins, and above all _you_," Draco shot back. "The faculty in this school is just like the students; the vast majority of them loathe us. They loathe us from the minute we're first sorted into Slytherin when we're eleven years old. I'm sure they would secretly love to have joined with your old friends the Weasley twins in booing and hissing at those tired, scared children who, at the welcome feast every year, have the 'misfortune' of being sorted into my House. That was low, Granger. You never heard us Slytherins booing the new Gryffindors, did you? No, because even we- even we who most of the school consider to be the lowest of the low- wouldn't stoop to booing first-years at the welcome feast!"

He paused, slightly breathless from his rant, and ran a hand distractedly through his fair hair, composing himself. He seemed truly and deeply distressed over the treatment of his younger Housemates. Just another surprise among many tonight for Hermione, who had always figured Slytherins in general, and Malfoy in particular, to be very much of the every-man-for-himself persuasion. Though she had privately thought to herself that there was indeed something unsavory about older students, such as Fred and George had been, targeting first-years, she just hadn't expected Draco to be so visibly upset over the treatment of anyone at all save- well, save Draco.

_Draco Malfoy, defender of children,_ she thought to herself, and had to bite back a chuckle. Somehow, the fact that Draco was bothered by the treatment of those first-years, which had no direct bearing whatsoever on his own well-being, made him seem less like the ogre she had considered him to be for six years and more- more human.

"But I digress," he said at length. "Back to the issue of bias among teachers. So we Slytherins have one teacher- one!- who's pulling for us to succeed. Who doesn't treat us as second-class citizens just because of what House we hail from. Did you ever stop to consider, Granger, that the reason you never bested me in potions may not have been that Snape favored me, but that he simply refused to favor _you_ the same way everyone else does? Hmm? That Snape may, in fact, have been the only _un_biased teacher you've encountered here, and that you're simply so used to having the scales automatically tipped in your favor that you couldn't stand it when he looked at the two us of impartially, and impartially concluded that I am, in fact, the superior student in his subject?"

"Why, that's…that's…just…" Hermione spluttered.

Draco let her go on in this vein for a moment, then shot her a wicked grin and said, "Come on, Granger, of _course_ Snape favors me. I am his godson after all. Still- made you think, didn't I?"

This much, she had to admit, was true.

00000

1:05

"-So that's my cause in a nutshell, Granger. You asked, I told. You can take it or leave it. I don't really expect you hold with everything I believe in, but surely you can admit that there is some basis for wanting to keep wizarding blood pure. If we keep breeding with Muggles, we'll breed ourselves right out of existence. There are few enough of us already; far fewer than there used to be."

"Well, I'm glad at least that you have the sense not to expect me to 'hold with', as you put it, a cause that promotes the annihilation of people like me and my family. That shows that you at least have _some_ common sense, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes flashed a challenge.

"Tell me, then, Granger," he drawled, "about your own cause. Make me understand the ideals that drive Albus Dumbledore and his merry band of Muggle-lovers. I'm dying to hear."

She thought hard for a moment. She needed to explain this simply and vividly in order to have the best chance of getting her point across. Not that Draco was stupid- he was far from it, as was becoming abundantly clear tonight- but still, this was important. If she could get him to see things from her point of view for even _one minute_- if she could plant just a seed of doubt in him about the ideals he had been raised to believe in- then with a mind as sharp as his he was not likely to let that seed lie fallow; he would start to think, and once he started- it could possibly change the course of his life. She knew she was probably being overly optimistic, but….

It was her best chance, in all likelihood her only chance, to potentially influence his way of thinking. She needed to plant a seed he would remember.

So much- so very, very much- hinged on how she worded this.

Finally she began, speaking slowly, "the Americans talk about the pursuit of happiness. I suppose that's truly what our cause is all about- it's…it's just that simple, really. Everyone, Muggles and wizardkind alike, should be allowed the pursuit of happiness, Malfoy. And if a wizard can find happiness in loving a Muggle, then he should be allowed. You will never convince me that wizards will breed themselves out of existence by marrying Muggles, not when two Muggles with no history of wizarding blood in their families at all can spontaneously produce magical children- like me. Over a third of the population of Hogwarts is Muggle-born, after all. And if there are fewer witches and wizards around than there used to be, maybe it's because these dark wizards keep coming along- like your own master, for instance- and killing off all those they don't believe are worthy to be considered wizardkind. Did you ever think about that?"

Draco was scowling. "No man is my master," he growled. "If I follow anyone, it is because I believe in his cause and I _choose_ to do so."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Tell me something, Malfoy, about your own pursuit of happiness. Do you believe it will bring you joy in life to marry a woman who was chosen for you, at birth, by your parents- before they could have had any inkling of whether she would be good match for you physically, mentally, emotionally- chosen just because of her bloodline, the same way people breed prized animals? Will marriage to Pansy bring you a lifetime of happiness? And here's something else for you to ponder- will it bring you satisfaction to be a follower all your life, to blindly follow your Dark Lord just because your father does, to blindly believe in the ideals you were raised to believe in, never thinking, never questioning? To be a henchman all your life- for even if you climb to the highest position among You-Know-Who's ranks, as I've no doubt you are capable of doing, remember this; the top henchman is still a henchman. Will that bring you contentment? I hardly know you, but even I can see that you are smart and independent by nature. So I don't think this life you have all planned out is one that will really agree with you in the end. But I could be wrong, so _you_ tell _me_, Malfoy, are you pursuing happiness through the decisions you make- or rather, allow others to make for you?"

She had avoided looking directly at him throughout her monologue, gazing instead out the nearest window and nervously toying with her hair. She looked at him now, and was surprised by what she saw. He had dropped his defenses, momentarily at least, and the expression on his normally guarded face could only be described as one of deep unease.

_I've made him think,_ she thought jubilantly; _I've done it, will you look at that- I've really made him think!_

Then his defenses snapped back into place, like shutters slamming behind his quartz-colored eyes, and his face was once again blank and emotionless.

"I don't have to answer to you, Granger," he said flatly.

But that, in itself, was all the answer she needed.

00000

1:30

"Have you ever heard of a Muggle named Adolph Hitler, Malfoy?"

"Adolph who?"

"Hitler. He was a dictator." She paused, saw his blank look, and elaborated. "A- a tyrant. Sort of…hm. A Muggle equivalent of a Dark Lord, I suppose."

"Can't say that I have. I don't take Muggle Studies. Did you know him?"

Hermione snorted. "No. He lived and died decades and decades ago. But most Muggles know _of _him- and I think that you should too. It's an interesting story. Wanna hear?"

Another of those shrugs that she was coming to see as just as much a trademark as his smirk. "Sure, Granger. I'm not going anywhere."

00000

1:40

"You must be joking."

"No joke."

"_Millions_ of people?"

"Millions and millions. Men, women, children, babies."

"Just because they had dark hair. Or spoke another language. Or had different religious beliefs?"

"Yes. You'd probably have been safe, at least appearance-wise, but me-" She twirled a thick lock of her dark, unruly hair around a finger- "I'd've been dead for sure."

"But-" he seemed genuinely puzzled, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of something that made no sense. He was unsuccessful. "But that's just stupid," he said at last.

And to a pureblooded wizard, who had had virtually no contact whatsoever with Muggles, it would seem so. For there was very little discrimination in the wizarding world due to race, nationality, or religious affiliation- the only real discrimination, among those who discriminated at all, had to do with how far back one could trace the wizarding blood in one's family.

And that was just it. She had to make him realize that-

"Don't you see, Malfoy? The languages, the religious differences, all that stuff- it was just on the surface. What it came down to was blood. Hitler wanted to cleanse the world of what he considered 'inferior blood', and start again- repopulate the earth with the descendents of just one race; the Aryan race. Just as your Dark Lord wants to cleanse the earth of all blood save old, pure wizarding blood and repopulate accordingly. Hitler, your precious Dark Lord- _They are exactly the same._"

He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking, a stubborn expression darkening his features.

"No. It's different. Completely different."

"Is it? Think about it, Malfoy. Think real hard."


	4. Chapter 4

2:05

"That damn bird is really creeping me out. That's the third time it's shown up here."

"Fawkes is brilliant, Malfoy. You know, he saved Harry's life once."

"I already told you I dislike that bird. Why add more fuel to the fire?"

She graced him with a poisonous glare, but chose not to address the comment, saying instead, "anyway, I told you, he's supposed to check in on us. He's Dumbledore's chaperone. He's making sure you haven't murdered me yet to protect the future of wizardkind."

He glared right back at her, but when he spoke, it was to change the subject. "I'm bored as hell of cards. Look through Sinistra's stuff- see if she's got anything interesting lying around."

Hermione was scandalized. "I will do no such thing!"

"Fine." Draco unfolded himself and got to his feet with a lithe, fluid grace. "I'll do it myself."

He stalked over to Sinistra's desk and began rummaging through the drawers while Hermione looked on, speechless with indignation on her professor's behalf. A moment later he straightened up, holding a wooden box in his hands and shooting her a roguish grin and why, _WHY_ did she find it so hard to keep hold of her righteous anger when he looked at her like that?

"Chess," he announced, with immense satisfaction. "Do you play?"

"A bit," she admitted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It _would_ be nice to pass the time with a little game of chess. It had taken years, but she had learned well from Ron, and had even developed a strategy uniquely her own. She had a feeling that Draco would be a very worthy opponent. Except-

"There's not enough time, though, before we next have to chart."

Draco rolled his eyes at her obtuseness. "The game can be put on hold for that, Granger. I've seen chess games put on hold for days, weeks even. I've seen chess games played by owl post."

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish. "All right, then, Malfoy. Let's go."

00000

2:40

"Check mate."

"Damn it! Granger, you're good."

00000

3:10

"Check mate."

"Bloody _HELL_! I hate chess. I'm going back to cards."

"Two can play at cards, you know."

"In theory, perhaps."

"Fine then! Hmph."

00000

3:35

"Solitaire must be getting old. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try me at Exploding Snap?"

"Ruddy positive."

"Oh, Fine! I hope- I hope you choke on your damn playing cards!"

Draco looked up at her, one eyebrow raised and an infuriating smirk on his lips. "Is that the best you can do? You hope I _choke_ on my playing cards? See, the thing about that is, I know better than to try to eat them." He shook his head. "You've been spending too much time with Longbottom, I think."

"Oh, get buggered, Malfoy."

His smirk now became a grin of sheer, wicked delight. "Tut tut, Granger, again with the language! Do you kiss your Muggle mummy with that mouth? And just for the record, I don't swing that way. But even if I did- you can be damn sure I'd be the one _DOING_ the buggering!"

"Ugh. I knew there was good reason why I've never been able to stand you. It's because you're an insufferable git!"

"You can 'git' me all day long. Just don't 'poof' me again!"

00000

3:55

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"The last one's gone below the horizon. We're done."

"But- but it's not time. It's only four-o-clock."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Granger, but every last one of them is gone from the sky."

"Are you sure you did it right?"

"I've been doing it all night! Yes, I'm bloody well sure I did it right! We're done. Check the door. Maybe the spell's off."

She went, but already she had an inkling of what she would find. "No good," she said, once her expectations had been confirmed. "Sinistra said the door wouldn't open until dawn."

"But that's not for at least two more hours. And I'm tired, damn it! Why the hell should we have to stay here and awake if there's nothing left to track?"

"No one said we have to stay awake, Malfoy, as long as our work is done. Go to sleep, if your beauty rest is that important to you. I'm not stopping you."

Draco sent a rude gesture her way, though there was clearly no real animosity behind it. "You could do with some beauty rest yourself, Granger. Your eyes are all little and squinty and red."

"Wow, Malfoy. You really know how to make a girl feel special. What a tragedy to womankind that the archaic institution of arranged marriage has claimed you as a victim."

"I know," Draco agreed mournfully. "You must try to bear it as best you can. Be strong, Granger."

She snorted with mirth, then quieted suddenly as a new and shocking thought occurred to her. Good God, was Draco Malfoy _flirting_ with her?

"Granger? You all right?" His eyes were intent, boring into her. "You went all quiet and spacey for a minute there. I think you're as tired as I am. Let's at least try to get some miserable excuse for sleep, shall we?" He pulled a black cloak from his bag, wrapped himself in it, and lay down where he was, his head pillowed on one arm.

Sighing, she pulled over her own bag and lay down herself, curled into a tight ball with the overflowing bag as a pillow. She had just closed her eyes when-

"Granger, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to sleep, Malfoy, same as you! What's your problem now?"

"Honestly, brains and common sense don't always go hand in hand, do they? You're going to try to sleep directly under an open window, and without a cloak? For God's sake, will you cover yourself. You'll catch your death of cold."

"I don't have a cloak," she mumbled, and flopped over so that her back was to him. She heard him sit up.

"You don't have a cloak?" he echoed disbelievingly. "How can you not have brought your cloak to a night lesson in _February_?"

She sat up too then, and turned back around to glare at him. "Well, I never expected _THIS_!"

"I never expected this, either, Granger," he said, speaking slowly and clearly, as though to a not-overly-bright child, "but you don't catch me without a cloak, after dark, in February, regardless!"

She felt a hot, prickly sensation at the back of her eyes- she really _must_ be tired, she thought, to feel herself close to dissolving into tears just because of Draco chiding her for not bringing a cloak to class! After all they had discussed and debated over the course of the night, _this_ was what could reduce her to tears? The fact that he had a nice, warm cloak and she didn't?

She scrubbed the back of one hand hard across her eyes, then drew up her knees and laid her head on them. "Leave me alone, Malfoy," she said in a muffled voice. "I'm too tired to keep up with you right now- (God, had she just admitted that?)- please just go to sleep and let me be."

For a long time there was silence. Then she heard him sigh. What he said next made her wonder whether her ears were working correctly, or whether this wasn't some sort of auditory hallucination brought on by her exhausted state.

"Come on, Granger. You can share mine."

She raised her head a fraction of an inch and stared at him. "What did you say?"

"I said you can bloody well share mine. It's got a lot of fabric. It was a gift from my godfather and he seems to feel that all clothing should be voluminous, and cloaks especially so." He gave her a small, crooked grin. "I think he could share clothes with Hagrid, if it came to that."

She felt an answering smile tug at the corners of her mouth and that's what decided her; she crawled over to him, settling herself against the wall some two feet away. Draco made an irritated noise.

"This may be a large cloak, Granger, but it is still a cloak, not a ruddy king-size duvet. Will you come- closer!"

And so saying, he reached out, snaked an arm around her waist, and pulled her hard up against him. She gave an undignified squawk of surprise, which he ignored, busily tucking the cloak about himself, then tossing half the fabric over her so that she could do the same.

She hadn't expected falling asleep to be easy, even as tired as she was. She had thought that her proximity to Draco would make her uncomfortable and that it would keep her awake, rehashing and rehashing all that they had spoken of over the last several hours. But as it happened, sleep claimed her almost immediately, the exhausted state of her body winning out, for once, over her mind.

Leaning back against the wall, soaking up the warmth that Draco's body was putting off beside her, her breathing deepened, slowed. The first time her head dropped onto his shoulder, she caught herself, yanking it up again with a sharp intake of breath. Draco made no response, his head tipped back against the stone wall, his hair a rumpled silver halo, his breathing deep and regular, apparently asleep already.

The second time her head fell to his shoulder, she let it stay there. Her last waking thought was of how oddly pleasant this was; the feeling of comfort and security she got from the strong male presence beside her; the large, warm, solid body she was comfortably slumped against.

What a crying shame that it had to belong to her oldest enemy….

And yet, was that really still what she considered him to be? After all that had been said and done during the watches of this long, strange night, was it really…?

00000

_Saturday, February 14th_

0

They awoke slowly, groggy and sore from their scant hours of sleep on the floor, in a sitting position with their backs against a cold stone wall. In a circular room ringed about with large windows, atop the highest tower in the castle, pink dawn light was streaming over them. Hermione, unthinking, turned her face against Draco's shoulder to stifle a yawn, and was unable to suppress the sudden and powerful thought that-

_He smells so good!_

Then Draco was pulling the cloak off of them, bundling it into a ball and stuffing it into his bag, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up.

She accepted.

They stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time. Hermione became aware that she was breathing inexplicably hard. She felt she had to break the silence, which was spiraling out unbearably.

"I, er, I expect the door will be unlocked now," she finally said. "It's daylight, and we've been done for hours. They can't expect us to stay any longer than this." She sounded lame to her own ears and looked away, feeling awkward- but her eyes snapped back to Draco's when she heard him speak.

"You know what day this is, Granger?"

His eyes were as expressionless as ever- to a casual observer, at any rate- but on closer inspection, were they…darker, somehow? More the color of gunmetal than silver?

"I-" she stammered, feeling trapped and disoriented by his intense gaze, "it's- oh. Oh!" and her own eyes widened as realization struck.

And in that instant, as color flooded her cheeks in a deep, pretty blush, Draco grasped her face gently in both his hands and lowered his lips to hers.

For a heartbeat she stiffened, amazed, unsure what to do- this was her first "real" kiss and, needless to say, she had never imagined in her wildest dreams that such a landmark event as this would happen under these circumstances, with this particular partner. Then her body relaxed, melted into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world, allowing Draco to guide her through the experience.

When they separated a long moment later, she was more than just breathing hard; she was literally panting- and she realized that he was too. His hands slipped down around her waist and he pulled her firmly against him. She could feel his heart beating fast. He lowered his head toward hers again and she thought that he was about to reclaim her mouth- but he didn't. With their faces so close that their noses were nearly touching, he closed his eyes- those remarkable, pale eyes- as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"You know, Granger, I've been doing some thinking," he started, his voice uncharacteristically rough around the edges, not his normal cool drawl at all, "about my pursuit of happiness, and-"

That was as far as he got, because at that precise moment, disaster struck.

00000

It struck in the form of a virtual explosion at the door, which burst inward nearly off its hinges, spilling an already anxious and sleep-deprived Harry and Ron into the room, who took one look at the scene before them and promptly went berserk, never imagining that Hermione could possibly be a willing party to having Draco's arms around her, thinking they had to be witnessing some sort of prelude to rape.

"Get your bloody hands off her, you filthy Slytherin bastard!" Ron shouted, his face livid, nearly as red as his hair. Harry said nothing, but his face was grim and his green eyes flashed murderous intent.

That was not the worst of it, however; Harry and Ron could probably have been handled- they were capable of listening to reason and could likely have been calmed to a point where, though far from happy, violence would no longer have threatened. Indeed, as Hermione disengaged and stepped in front of Draco, holding her hands palm-out to halt her friends' charge, the two Gryffindors were already slowing, their expressions clouding with confusion.

So the situation might even then have been salvaged, except for what happened next; Crabbe and Goyle barged through the door, and they came in fast, and they came in swinging, and with them there was no reasoning.

The events that followed were a blur, but what it all came down to was this;

A five-way free-for-all, Draco having pushed Hermione out of the fray, fists flying more or less indiscriminately-

Harry and Goyle grappling as Crabbe dispatched Ron, momentarily, at least, with a punch that sent him sprawling-

Crabbe then moving to attack Harry from behind while he was occupied with Goyle and Draco was busily attempting to break the two of them apart-

Hermione, removed from the immediacy of the fight, noticing what neither Harry nor Draco had; a cold glint of metal in Crabbe's hand-

And throwing herself forward, drawing on six years' instinct of protecting the Boy Who Lived, who also happened to be one of her two best friends.

A stunned silence followed the impact of Crabbe's fist with Hermione's body; a silence during which no one at all, even Hermione herself, for a space of several heartbeats, seemed to register the fact that before making contact with the fabric of her uniform blouse, Crabbe's hand had driven a good five inches of sharpened steel (an ornate silver dagger that had been a birthday present from Draco) into the slight girl's flesh.

She staggered backward and Harry, in the process of turning to fully face Crabbe, caught her, steadying her from behind, but only for a moment- he was already moving around her to get to Crabbe, furious enough that the brutish boy had just "hit" his best- female- friend, unaware, as yet, of the damage that had actually been done.

As for Crabbe, he was staring stupidly at Hermione, as if unable to comprehend what he had just done to her, and he continued to gawk until Harry's fist made a solid impact on his jaw. He still made no attempt to defend himself, even as Ron picked himself up and rushed forward, snarling, to add his own rain of blows to Harry's.

This left Draco and Goyle standing slightly off to one side, Draco's hand still resting on Goyle's arm from his attempt, a moment ago, to pull him off of Harry-

And Hermione, alone now, still on her feet, staring blankly down at the blood that was rapidly blossoming out across the fabric of her blouse, spreading in all directions; a crimson stain which had at its center the silver hilt of a dagger protruding from her chest.

To her, it seemed as if she were suddenly standing in the eye of some strange storm; the sounds in the room now muted by a rush, as of wind, in her ears. Her breath escaped her in a little, exhaled "oh", and she seemed unable to draw in more.

She turned then, slowly, feeling as if she were swimming through air suddenly as thick as water, and her wide, shocked eyes came to rest on Draco. For an instant that seemed like an eternity they simply stared at one another- then Draco's eyes, caught by the bright splash of scarlet against her white blouse, lowered to her chest. When he raised them once more to her face, they were suffused with horror; the most expressive she had ever seen them.

She took a step toward him- and her legs gave out, spilling her forward into his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, fuck," Draco breathed, as he sank slowly to the floor, turning Hermione in his arms so he could ease himself into a sitting position with her cradled in his lap. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _FUCK_!"

Her dark eyes were still open; they locked on his, and he saw in their expression that she was still in shock, but was beginning to register pain and fear as well.

"Granger," he said, and his voice was not his own at all; it was hoarse, nearly strangled.

"Malfoy," she gasped, "take…take it out. It's cold. Get it out of me. Please."

He gripped the dagger's hilt and yanked it out of her with a single, sharp tug. Her whole body jerked, then relaxed in his arms. Her eyes started to slip shut.

"Granger!" He tossed the dagger aside and gave her a sharp little shake. "Stay awake, all right? Come on- look at me."

She struggled to obey, but was clearly having difficulties focusing her eyes. "Thought it was morning," she whispered, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. "Why…why is it so dark?"

It wasn't dark at all, of course. The rosy morning light was getting stronger all the time.

"Bloody hell," Draco swore vehemently, then looked up at what was going on around him. The fight was still raging; Goyle, he saw, had waded right back in again as soon as he had removed his hand from his arm in order to catch Hermione. Crabbe, for his part, seemed finally to have snapped out of the stupor he had gone into, and was now fighting back with gusto. It was a pretty evenly matched battle; Crabbe and Goyle bigger and stronger, but Potter and Weasley smarter and faster- and it may have continued so for a good long while.

Had Draco not brought the whole affair to a standstill by shouting a single word; "STOP!"

It wasn't even the word, 'stop', that the four combatants responded to- it was the simple fact that Draco had shouted at all- Draco never raised his voice. He simply didn't do it. He was one of those people who get quieter and quieter the angrier they become; whose very silence in frightening because it is dangerous. For him to shout was unheard of, and his voice- almost cracking, just barely on the near side of panic- that was what caused the fight to stop cold and the four boys to whirl toward him.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then-

Ron reacted first; he took a few stumbling steps toward Draco and fell heavily to his knees.

"Oh. Holy. Shit." He said, looking and sounding as if he had just taken two bludgers to his gut at once. He held out his arms toward Draco. "Give her here, Malfoy."

Draco didn't pause to think or rationalize; he just went with his gut reaction, which was to tighten his arms about her and snarl, "Back the hell off, Weasley." Ron, taken aback by this unexpected response, simply stared from Draco to the now barely conscious Hermione and back- and then Harry was there, saying nothing, just acting. He yanked his sweater off over his head, virtually hurled himself to the floor, seized the collar of Hermione's blood-soaked blouse and ripped it open right down the front, located the wound and pressed the wadded up material of his sweater against it, applying pressure both-handed.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, not looking at Draco, all his attention focused on his fallen friend, "you had better send one of those bastards for Pomfrey, double quick."

Draco looked up and saw both Crabbe and Goyle staring at the scene playing out before them stupidly. "Crabbe," he said, his voice soft yet clear, clear and menacing, "I want you to understand one thing. If she dies, you die. I will kill you myself. Is that perfectly clear?"

Crabbe nodded.

"And do you believe me?"

Crabbe nodded again. Oh, yes, he believed. It was obvious to everyone in the room that Draco was deadly serious.

"Good," the blond boy said. "Now if you value your life, you'd better get Pomfrey up here. Right. Now.

Goyle, go with him. Don't let him fuck this up."

Goyle nodded too, but neither of them moved. They were paralyzed by the shock of the situation, and by fear of Draco.

"GO!"

That broke the paralysis. The two goons turned tail and fled with remarkable speed for their size and girth.

00000

"Hermione? Hermione?"

It was Harry's voice. She'd know that voice anywhere. Quiet and calm, even in the face of disaster; the voice of a boy who had been forced to become a man too soon.

She loved that voice.

She didn't think Harry was holding her, though. The strong arms that were wrapped around her, as if trying to hold the life in her by force- whose were they? Her brain was foggy, uncooperative.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"Yeah. I'm here. So's Ron. And…and Malfoy. We're gonna stay with you, but Hermione, we need you to stay with us, too. We need you to stay awake. Can you look at me? C'mon- you gotta try."

She dragged her reluctant eyes open and tried to focus them on Harry- or the blurry form she assumed was Harry- but they were caught instead by a shock of bright red hair beside him.

"R-Ron?"

"I'm here, love."

She felt a pair of large, warm, rough hands enfold one of her own and raise it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips, then blew on them and chafed them gently. She heard him murmur to Harry, "Her hands are like ice. What the hell are we gonna do?" His voice was funny- slurred and cracked. It sounded like he was crying. She wanted to see if this was so, but her eyes wouldn't focus well enough. She wanted to comfort him, but could not make her voice work. The most she could manage was to weakly squeeze his hand.

Her eyes drifted shut. Harry had said to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. She heard him murmur back to Ron, in a similarly choked voice, "I don't think she's gonna last til Pomfrey comes."

Then Ron again, now sounding more venomous than she had ever heard him. "I don't know who you think you're fooling with the whole concerned act, Malfoy. You've gotta be over the moon right now. After all, here's your wish come true; one less filthy mudblood in the world!"

She felt the arms around her tighten further. And then she heard Draco's voice- and yet, it wasn't Draco's voice; not the one she'd become accustomed to over the past six years. Gone was the drawl, the ridicule, the malice, the arrogance. He sounded tired and wrung-out and…sad? Yes, she thought groggily, sad.

"I don't want this," he said. And then louder, tinged almost with hysteria, "I don't bloody want this! It's every person's right to change his mind, and I don't bloody want this _AT ALL_!"

After that, the voices above her faded for some time to a low, thrumming background noise that she was just barely aware of on the edge of her consciousness- but then she thought- she was almost _sure_- that she heard a voice- neither Harry's nor Ron's, calling to her; "Hermione! Hermione?"

_Name_, she thought, with a great, grinding effort; _it's Draco and he's using my name._

Calling on a last reserve of strength she hadn't known she possessed, she cracked her eyes open again- just barely- but try as she might, she couldn't make him out. She gathered herself to make an attempt at speech.

"Dra…co?" she managed.

"I've got you," came the immediate reply, "I've got you and I'm not letting go. Not for your friends or mine. I've got you, Hermione."

She smiled faintly, and then the darkness claimed her.

She didn't hear the new sound that suddenly filled the room-

Phoenix song.

It was Fawkes, come for his last appointed check-in.

She was unaware of anything that followed; of Fawkes alighting beside her, of Draco snarling, trying to kick and beat him away, of Ron and Harry shouting at Draco; the brief, frantic struggle that ensued and ended with Harry straddling the Slytherin's chest, pinning him effectively to the floor and yelling, "leave him alone, Malfoy, he can save her! He saved me, he can save her!"

Unaware of Ron catching her when Harry knocked Draco backward, and holding her cradled in his arms as Fawkes lowered his fiery head and wept silent tears onto her wound, adding tears of his own for the girl he loved like a second sister.

Unaware of Madam Pomfrey bursting in, accompanied by Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape, taking only a split second to register the scene before her before she began shouting orders pell-mell.

Unaware of the furious scuffle that broke out when Harry released Draco and he attempted to reclaim her from Ron; both boys equally intent upon being the one to carry her to the infirmary, until Snape stepped in, scooping her into his own arms and pelting down the tower stairs two at a time, Pomfrey just behind him.

She would never later recall the pain that coursed throughout her body when the mediwitch administered a large dose of blood replacement serum- she had lost so much blood that she would have died without it- it was an absolute necessity- but had the unfortunate effect of causing searing pain throughout her entire body as it spread through her veins, due to the body's violent initial response to the foreign substance invading it.

She would never recall that Harry, Ron, and indeed, Draco, arriving at the infirmary winded from running the entire way, flatly refused to allow her to be bound to the bed as Pomfrey had intended, insisting instead upon acting as her restraints themselves, taking it in turns to hold her as she thrashed about in agony.

She would never recall the small cluster of professors who had stood just inside the door, with expressions of grim shock on their faces, while the normally calm and collected professor Sinistra wrung her hands and dabbed at her eyes, murmuring that she would never have been a party to this, never- not if she had known that it would nearly cost a student her life. Dumbledore had draped a comforting arm about the small woman's shoulders and led her from the room.

She would never recall- though Harry would later tell her- how, as she finally lay still, gasping and shaking in the wake of her ordeal, Draco had leaned close over her as Harry and Ron had exchanged puzzled, suspicious glances, smoothing her sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead and murmuring words that caused Harry to shake is head in wonderment when he repeated them to her.

_Hey, Granger, I was thinking,_ Harry reported him as having said,_ about everything you said last night, and about my own pursuit of happiness most of all. I tried to tell you earlier, but- anyway, the thing you said that struck me most was about Pansy; about whether she was my ideal match, physically, mentally, emotionally. The first conclusion I came to was that she's not- and that I had known it all along, but just never thought it was all that important before. I'm changing my mind about that, though. The second conclusion I came to- (what the fuck are you staring at, Weasel? Take a picture, why don't you, it'll last longer)- was that I'm not her ideal match either. If she couldn't make me happy, well, I sure as hell wouldn't do it for her. She's secretly fancied Blaise for years, anyway. She doesn't think I know, but- all right, I read her diary. If you leave yours lying around, I'll read it too. It's my nature, Granger, and I'll make no apology for it. But back to Pans- if I freed myself to pursue happiness, I'd be doing the same for her. And I _want_ her to be happy; she's a friend of mine._

At this point, according to Harry, he had sighed, run a hand through his hair, taken Hermione's nearer hand in both his own, just as Ron had done up in the astronomy tower, and raised it- but instead of kissing it, he had bowed his head and merely held it pressed against his cheek.

_The final conclusion I reached_, Harry had repeated, _was that the reason I was finally able to admit that Pansy's _not_ my ideal match is that I've found someone who is. You can keep up with me in a debate, Granger, and not many people can. We talked for hours, and I never got bored. You're wicked smart, and funny, and I _love_ the way you let slip with a swear every now and then, and- and I think that even your ridiculous hair is starting to grow on me. And it occurred to me that if I decided to accept your cause, then- if a wizard can find happiness loving a Muggle, as you said, why can't I find happiness loving an amazingly talented witch? You've been right under my nose for six years now- don't- _(he had paused and swallowed hard, Harry said)- _don't make me have found you and lost you all in one night. Please, Gr-Hermione, wake up. _

And with that said, he had gently laid her hand back down on the coverlet, stood up, glared daggers first at Harry and then at Ron, as if daring them to say a word about his emotional plea, then walked calmly over to the door, stopped just short of passing through it, stood for a moment, clearly indecisive, and instead began kicking and punching the wall beside it in furious silence, until he exhausted himself and slid down it to the floor, drawing up his knees and dropping his silvery head forward onto them. He had stayed that way, silent and unmoving, even when Madam Pomfrey had entered the room on her way to Hermione's bedside, seen him, done a double-take, stopped, shook her head, and knelt beside him to conjure bandages for his bruised and bloodied hands.

He hadn't looked up, in fact, until Harry crossed the room to crouch before him. Then he had raised his head and his gray eyes had fixed steadily and unflinchingly on Harry's narrowed, suspicious green ones.

"What the hell is going on, Malfoy?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco's gaze shifted over the bed on which Hermione lay, then back to Harry. "Granger made me think," he said simply.

Harry looked truly perplexed. "That's it? After six years of violent hatred, of repeatedly calling her a-" he broke off, as if unable to bring himself to speak the ugly word- "after all that, you spend one night locked in a room with her and- and you come out a changed man? You're asking me to buy that?"

The corner of Draco's lip twitched. Was it the trace of a smirk- or a smile? "She can be persuasive, Potter."

Harry said nothing for a long time. Then, "that she can," he agreed. "But I'm warning you, Malfoy- if this is some sort of a game- if you're toying with my best friend- I'll rip your fucking throat out. I've seen too many people I care about hurt already. I will kill you."

Again that locked gaze, gray on green, spiraled out and out. Finally, "it's no game, Potter," Draco said.

"In that case," said Harry, and held out his right hand.

Draco stared from Harry's face to his outstretched hand, and back again. "I offered you my hand once," he said finally, slowly, "and you humiliated me. People that humiliate me don't get second chances."

It was only as Harry began to pull back that he suddenly reached out, with a Seeker's lightning speed, and gripped the dark-haired boy's hand with his own. "Except this one time. To prove to you that I'm serious. About Gr- Hermione. Potter, if this seems crazy to you, trust me when I say that it seems ten times more so to me… you have no idea the kind of trouble this is going to cause… but I really think I love her. I'm never going to see eye-to-eye with her about those bedamned house elves- but I will do right by her. This isn't a game."

They shook then, a handshake that had been six years in coming.

Then Draco's face clouded, as a sudden thought occurred to him. "You're not going to give _her_-" he jutted his chin toward the bed- "a hard time about this, are you, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, a brief glimmer of a smile on his lips. "She's my best friend, Malfoy- she and Ron both. I would stand behind her even if she decided she fancied Filch." (Though he couldn't suppress a small shudder.) His face was serious again as he continued, "if anything goes wrong here, it's you I'm going to hold responsible. We clear on that, Malfoy?"

"Potter, I was clear all the way back at 'I'll rip your fucking throat out'. Don't let's get repetitive."

Harry couldn't resist a snort of laughter as he offered Draco a hand up, and Draco took it. They returned to the bedside together and it wasn't long after that at Harry's urging, Ron too offered his hand to Draco.

They shook, though they both wore expressions that would have befitted reaching into a vat of bubotuber pus, and each let go so fast it was as if the other's touch had burned them. But it was a start.

It was a start.

Hermione, of course, was aware of none of this- not until she heard second-hand, much, much later.

00000

The only thing she knew, when she finally awoke in the early hours of the next morning, levering herself sleepily up onto her elbows in order to take in her surroundings, was that this- Harry and Ron dozing in big, soft armchairs on either side of the bed, Draco asleep in a chair drawn right up to her bedside, slumped forward so that his head rested in the crook of one arm on the mattress, his other hand loosely clasped around her own- this was right.

Completely and undeniably right.

She had no thought then for the storm that would rage through the school when their newfound love was announced- rage unabated for the rest of the year, in fact, but finally die down and lead to the gradual setting aside of old differences and the birth of a new, more unified Hogwarts as their seventh and final year approached- her only thought, as Draco stirred, then raised his head and opened those slate-colored eyes that she would love for the rest of her life- was that this was good.

Wholly and unquestionably good.

"Hey," Draco whispered hoarsely.

"Hey," she replied.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"Would that have been a bad thing, Malfoy?"

"Hell yes."

She smiled teasingly. "But I thought-"

"Don't say it. And don't think. For just once in your life, don't think."

And as he shifted himself from the chair onto the bed, bending toward her and catching her face in both his hands, leaning in to capture her lips in a gentle, but nonetheless mind-blowing, kiss, she found it surprisingly easy to obey.

000oo The End oo000

A/N: Woo Hoo, another fic complete. This one was written, as I stated earlier, as an entry into a Draco/Hermione Valentine fic exchange game, and was originally written as a super-long one-shot, but I thought it more prudent to break it into chapters when I posted it here.

Because there was a due date for the game, I had a limited time- about three weeks- in which to write this fic. That is the reason why I had their relationship develop so rapidly; over the course of one night. As anyone who reads my other fics knows, I do not actually believe that one night together, no matter how intense the conversation (or other activities), could possibly lead to a complete change of heart on Draco's part and a happily-ever-after romance; if it were to happen at all, I think it would take months. Which is the way it happens in my other fics, but then those take/took me months to write. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you're going to review and tell me that this seemed rushed and unrealistic, I already know that; it was a result of the time limit. But overall, I'm happy with this fic- and the response it has elicited so far! THANK YOU to all reviewers! And I do think it met all the criteria of the request, which was, once again;

**3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:**  
1. Set in sixth year  
2. Professor Sinstra is a key element in creating the relationship between Draco and Hermione  
3. Draco and Hermione do not share potions class together  
4. Story must start out with a prologue, not from Hermione's, Draco's or Sinstra's point of view

One more thing- remember how I said that not only did I fulfill someone's ideal fic request, but another writer also fulfilled mine? She did a fantastic job, and I highly recommend that anyone who enjoyed this story check out hers; it's called Rumours, by cherii-emrei, right here on Go! Find! Read! Review:o)


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